


Barely Breathing

by coreopsis



Series: Lost Horizons [1]
Category: Da Vinci's Inquest
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-04-07
Updated: 2000-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-15 03:32:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coreopsis/pseuds/coreopsis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A case stirs up Bobby's ghosts and a convenient meeting with Dominic helps to settle them down again.  (Not episode related.  As always, "A Cinderella Story" is pretty much spoiled, but it's not essential to have seen it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barely Breathing

Her name was Nola McDonald. Blood and bruises marred her might-have-been pretty face as they loaded her into the back of the ambulance. I could feel this one slipping away already. She looked impossibly fragile and irreparably broken. If she pulled through, it would be a miracle. I haven't believed in those for a long time.

I knew that I'd be turning my aggravated rape case over to Homicide soon, and when I did, I wanted to have a suspect in custody. Just hand it all to them tied up neatly--here's the guy. That's what I needed to do to get her battered face out of my mind. Without saying a word, she demanded justice.

The attack had a personal feel--as if this woman was being punished for something. Rape is usually a power play, but this...this was a brutal attempt to destroy another person. It didn't seem intelligently calculated or coldly planned. More like a crime of passion--not lust but rage. Forensic evidence all over the place, but it only helps when you have a suspect in custody.

So I went with the obvious suspect first. The neighbors said that the vic-- that Nola had recently dumped her boyfriend and he'd been hanging around, pounding on the door at all hours until folks threaten to call the cops. Too bad they never did it. Might have made some impression on him--pointed out just how out of control he was getting. But then again, maybe not.

I hate the obvious. It's selfish and not very community-minded to admit that I'd have almost preferred that some stranger had snuck into this woman's apartment and brutally raped and beaten her. The job of finding who did it would have been a lot harder, but it would have been easier in some respects, easier to distance myself emotionally. The reasoning behind the attack would have been murkier, but hell, it's all murky anyway to a right-thinking person. Psychos aren't supposed to make sense to anyone but their doctors, a boyfriend on the other hand...

When I first started this job, the question of why would often keep me awake at night. Why would anybody do something so horrific to another person? Vice is always simple enough--any business is motivated by money, whether it's selling shoes or selling sex. But Sex Crimes is different. The assaults by strangers are difficult enough to figure out, but when the perpetrator is family, a friend, or a significant other, that's when the mind truly boggles. An uncle, a boyfriend, a father...a *mother*. People who claim to love the person they hurt.

Like Nola's boyfriend--Kenny Krumper. He wanted her back. He said he loved her more than anything else on this earth, and he had to have her back. It all sounds so cliched, but that's what it came down to--his inability to let go. He didn't seem at all surprised when I put the cuffs on him. He didn't put up a fight or try to proclaim his innocence. He rode to the station in complete silence, and so did I because all I could think was why. That question would be asked and answered at some length when I got him in the interview room, but nothing he said would ever make sense. Not to anyone with a firm grasp on what it means to be human, anyway.

Somewhere along the line, Krumper had taken a different direction from the rest of us. He twisted and turned and became something that most good people would like to pretend doesn't exist. First, he was a rapist, and now...

He just became a murderer. A doctor came out of the intensive care unit with that bad news look on his face, and I knew what he was going to say. It's odd that I just had to stop by here on my way home this evening. It's a monumental case of bad timing that puts me here in this waiting room watching her parents clutch at each other in desperate denial-flavored grief. I shouldn't be here for this. There's nothing I can do but feel helpless, and I hate that almost as much as I hate being right.

For the first time since Gwen died, I'm glad I'll be going home to an empty apartment tonight, no matter how lonely it'll be. On days like this, I feel like I never want to have sex again and just the sight of a pretty woman causes a dull ache in the pit of my stomach. These days are much fewer and farther between now than they used to be. That's something else to be glad of, I guess.

Nola's mother is looking at me like she wants to ask me why this happened, as if I'm supposed to say or do something...more. I have no more idea than she does. I don't have any answers, but I can offer the only comfort I can.

"Mrs. McDonald, I'm sorry for your loss, and we will do everything we can to--"

"Yes, Detective. I'm sure you will, but it's a little too late, isn't it? Now if you'll excuse us. Our--our daughter n-needs us..."

*^*^*^*^

"Hey Bobby. How's it going?"

"Ah... it's going." I can honestly say that Dominic Da Vinci was the last thing on my mind, so there was no way I could have expected to run into him in the hospital elevator. Hell, maybe he really is everywhere. This pleases me for some reason that's not quite clear yet. "Everything okay?"

"Oh yeah. My mother's in for some tests. She's fine, but I stopped by to check on her anyway." I just realized that this is the first time I've seen Dominic without his briefcase in a long, long time. We used to be pretty friendly--have an occasional off-duty drink or cup of coffee. But all our meetings lately have been work related somehow.

"Well, I hope your mom's tests are good." Well, this is awkward, and there's no reason for it to be. Dammit, Bobby, can't you even remember how to make small talk?

"What're you here for?" Trust Dominic to be direct and to the point. I like that. It makes things much simpler. Maybe I should try it.

"I came to check on a victim. She just... She didn't make it." There's that sympathetic look that I'm beginning to know so well, and *that* is why I was pleased to see him. Not because he makes everything better, but because he cares enough to try. Being the toucher that he is, he immediately reaches out and puts a hand on my back. That connection--light and tenuous as it is-- feels better than a hug right now because it's just about all I can stand.

The doors open onto the lobby and he drops his hand. I miss it already, and feel a little foolish because of it. But as we step out of the elevator, Dominic doesn't move away, instead he nods toward the coffee shop. "You want to get some coffee and talk about it?"

"Not here." This whole building makes me twitchy, but I don't know how to say so in any way that doesn't sound stupid. Moving holds a lot of attraction for me right now. I need to put some distance between me and...well, just about everything. "How about that place down the street? We could walk."

"Sure, why not? It's a nice evening." Dominic speaks with the most nonchalant tone I've ever heard from a man whose mom's in the hospital. He sticks his hands in his coat pockets and walks with that same quick got-somewhere-to-be pace he always does, but even that has an oddly relaxed air.

His calmness infects me, spreading quickly until those the tight muscles at the back of my neck and between my shoulder blades start to loosen up. I didn't even notice how tense I was. Guess I had just gotten so used to it that it had become normal.

Don't know why, but that reminds me of how alone I've been lately. Since Gwen, I haven't dated, haven't even thought about it. I still miss her, but that's only part of it. Since Gwen, everything has seemed...flat...colorless. Pointless. Everything but work. Work is always good, even when it's bad. Since Gwen... kinda sad how many thoughts start out that way. It's as if my entire life is marked in two sections, 'since Gwen died' and everything that came before that.

I do miss her. I miss having her there to talk to and hold in the middle of the night. I miss fixing her something to eat and rubbing her shoulders when she'd come in from another frustrating day on the streets looking for Maddy. I miss the way she'd smile when she saw me coming, as if her day just got a little bit better. I miss...so much of her.

I have to stop thinking like this. These are thoughts better left to those late nights when not even a bottle and the television can put me to sleep. Not the kind of thoughts to have when you're walking down the street with an unusually quiet Dominic Da Vinci. Looking at him, I can't tell if he's lost in his thoughts or wondering about mine. He's a bit of a puzzle for someone so open.

"So...what's been going on with you, Dominic? I haven't seen you in a while, since...the Williams case, eh?"

He looks surprised for a moment and says, "Yeah, I guess it was. Got that one off the streets, but how many others are still out there? That's what I can't help but wonder."

"Yeah." You don't have to remind me, buddy. I see them every day. Not the murderers mostly, but plenty of other twisted fucks. That's the last thing I want to think about right now, and since we've reached the restaurant... "Have you had dinner? Might as well get something to eat."

He opens the door and watches me closely, like he recognizes the change of subject for the evasion that it is. "Yeah, sounds good."

And as easy as that, we're sitting at a table in the corner, having dinner and making aborted attempts at conversation.

The silence stretches out until it begins to be uncomfortable, but I can't think of a subject that doesn't seem riddled with landmines. Dominic and I have known each other for a pretty good while now, but our main point of reference has always been the job. That's the last thing I want to discuss, but I can see the questions in his eyes. I put down my fork, take a sip of coffee, and tell him about this latest case.

When I finish with the factual rundown, he gives me that penetrating look and says, "Why is this one so special, Bob? You've handled a whole lot worse than this, surely. We've both seen some really horrific things. What is it about this one?"

I don't know, damn it. Yes, there have been worse and there probably will be again. What makes Nola so special? I don't... "He was supposed to protect her. He said he loved her, right? More than anything, right? He was supposed to take care of her and protect her and keep her safe from the other predators. He wasn't supposed to be the one that-- What the hell kind of boyfriend does that? She was so good and she didn't deserve that and I should have protected her, damn it."

I'm nearly out of breath when I get to the end of that little speech. I had no idea what exactly was going to come out. Dominic, the smug bastard, doesn't look at all surprised. He just pooches his lower lip out and squints at me like I'm a bug under a microscope.

"Did you hear what you just said, Bobby? You said, 'I should have protected her.'"

Oh no, I didn't. Did I? Replay the last few remarks and...he's right. Damn. Stir my coffee, look around for an ashtray, anything to avoid looking at him right now.... oh, it's no smoking. Too bad. I could really use a smoke right now. He's talking again or still, whatever.

"You can't feel responsible for this girl, Bobby. You didn't even know her." His voice is as soft and calm as mine wasn't, and I finally look up at him. His eyes catch mine and hold my attention as he says very slowly, "You are not responsible. What is this really about? Gwen?"

I can't look away, even though it feels like he can see right through me, right through every defense I've ever had. I shrug and aim for casual. "Maybe. I didn't think it was, but she has been on my mind lately."

"I don't know what to say about this. I didn't know Gwen, but I do know you, and I think that you probably did protect her as best you could. I don't know if you could have persuaded her to stay away from the stroll. I don't know if *you* know, but you've got to forgive yourself sometime for whatever you did or didn't do. Quit blaming yourself."

The words--the same words that I said to Gwen probably half a dozen times--are tiny knives in my heart. They cut deeper than I would have ever imagined. Quit...blaming...myself. Can I do that? She couldn't. Do I deserve to stop feeling guilty?

"It's not that easy...I mean, I don't know if I can." Oh yeah, I understand Gwen and her feelings much better these days. Understand why she couldn't give up looking for her daughter, even though it eventually killed her. She blamed herself for Maddy running away and that guilt combined with her love and worry to drive her into an impossibly dangerous situation. A situation that I could have saved her from if only I had tried harder to convince her, if I had just found the right words. "It was my fault, Dominic--at least partly. I knew the dangers more than she did--I had *seen* them. Gwen had this blind spot where Maddy was concerned, but I could have tried harder. Hell, I could have tried to stop her, but I didn't. Not really."

Every word of that is true, but it seems so useless...ultimately just useless, because Gwen is still dead. Still taken from me, and there's not a fucking thing I can do about it now.

"Bobby, I'm sure that--"

I'm dimly aware that Dominic is speaking again, but the words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them from interrupting him. "Mrs. McDonald gave me the same look tonight that Gwen's mother gave me when she came up from Portland to pack up Gwen's stuff. She looked at me like--not like she blamed me exactly--more like she expected something more from me than what she got. I had not only failed her but also disappointed her, because not only could I not protect her daughter, I couldn't even tell her *why*. I just didn't know why it happened. Maybe nobody knows, but everybody wants to."

"Well, that's true. We do want to know the reasons for the things that happen to us, but it's not always understandable or even apparent. Sometimes--like with Gwen--it's as simple as being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nola's case was probably a bit more complicated in that she trusted the wrong person...I don't know, Bobby. I just don't know."

Well, there goes any faint hope I might have had that Dominic would have all the answers to make me feel better. And yet oddly, the semi-permanent tightness in my chest has eased up a little. I still have a ways to go before any of this makes sense and I doubt I'll ever stop hurting when I think of Gwen, but in time it might become a bit more bearable.

I let Dominic take care of the check, because he offered and because I don't want to be distracted right now. I have a lot to think about. Could it possibly be something as simple as bad luck--wrong place at the wrong time--that took Gwen away from me? I've never believed in fate before, always figured you make your own luck. Maybe some things are out of our hands, and it doesn't matter if you do everything right or screw it all up six ways from Sunday. Maybe it's time to accept that there are things I can't control and evil things happen to good people for no reason.

Yeah, whatever. I'll have to turn that theory over in my mind a few more times before I'm certain. Thinking it is easier than believing it.

How in the hell did we get half way back to the hospital without my noticing? Dominic's just walking along beside me like this is any other after-dinner stroll, and maybe it is for him. I never really noticed how completely at home he is in the world. He seems to adapt to fit whatever situation he's in, like he knows that when it's all over he'll still have the same firm grip on himself as when he went in. That's an enviable self-assurance right there.

His eyes show concern when he looks at me, but then he smiles a little as if to assure me that he's not going to start the conversation again. I think I'm reading him pretty well so far, but I just realized that I don't really know him. We've known each other for years and I'd call him a friend, but we've never been particularly close. He's a good listener and he gives good advice, but he doesn't talk about himself much so it's hard to tell just what's going on inside his head. Well, there's always the direct approach...

"Have you ever had a case like this? One that kicked up your personal ghosts?" Watch him closely for his reaction. He seems to be seriously considering it.

"Yeah, I suppose I have. I try not to dwell on them too much though. There's always another dead body around the corner, another case, another family to deal with..." His step slows and he turns slightly when he says, "That sounds cold, doesn't it?"

I don't think I've smiled once all day, until now, and even this is a half-hearted effort. "No. Sounds pragmatic. I feel the same way most of the time. Just on occasion...something comes up that won't let go."

"Yeah." He's nodding, but not really offering anything else. Well, what did you expect, Bobby? True Confessions?

There's his Jeep up there in the first lot, so I guess we're going to part ways. I wonder if he has any idea how much I appreciate his company tonight. I doubt that I can tell him when I'm a little unsure of it myself. He's offered more than I ever would have imagined--sympathy, comfort, camaraderie. A friend who's willing to listen to this kind of self-indulgent shoptalk when he's certainly got enough problems of his own is worth his weight in gold. Why didn't I ever see that before? I should have taken him up on his previous offers to talk, should have kept in closer contact with him instead of letting weeks go by without a word. I should hang onto him.

"Bobby, are you gonna be okay now?" He's got his car keys in his hand, but he's reaching out to me with the other. Just a little tap on the back, a fleeting contact that I feel all the way to my toes.

"Yeah. Listen, I just want to... just want to thank you. For listening and...uh, helping me get a grip on this whole thing. I'm working three other cases right now, and this one was threatening to take over and it's not even mine anymore. Not now." I have to look away, down at the ground, my feet, his feet, anything but his eyes. Don't know what I expected, but that...softness wasn't it. My breath has caught somewhere between my chest and my throat, but when I glance up and see his smile, I can suddenly breathe again and I'm smiling back.

"Anytime I can return the favor, Dominic, you just give me a call." For some reason, I don't think that's likely to happen, but you never can tell.

He glances over my shoulder toward the hospital before he nods. "Sure thing, Bobby. You know you can call me anytime too, yeah? We don't have to just run into each other by accident."

That sounds more like an offer or an invitation than a statement of fact. I almost want to laugh from relief, but I just smile a little and say, "Yeah, I got it."

And I think I do. For the first time, in a long time, I think I got it. Now I just have to figure out what I'm going to do with it.

The End.


End file.
